


The One Where a Wall Shatters

by Kappakay



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Drunk Sex, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-08
Updated: 2013-04-08
Packaged: 2017-12-07 22:43:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/753917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kappakay/pseuds/Kappakay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sexual tension runs high between Jensen and Misha, but Jensen would never risk their friendship over sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One Where a Wall Shatters

**Author's Note:**

> This was done on tumblr over a conversation. Also written at 3am for me. I might add more work to this verse if I can find the inspiration.

Everything buzzed inside Jensen, but that's what alcohol does. His body responded happily, eager to strip the walls his mind so carefully built. It was for his safety, for Misha's safety and for the safety of their friendship. Tension boiled underneath his skin every time Misha was too close, every time his skin brushed against Jensen's, every time they shot the Dean and Cas scenes, charged with so much sexually energy it burned a trail down. The walls were built for safety and for comfort.

Alcohol stripped him of his walls, freed his speech so he could say what he thought, what he wanted. It was okay for tonight; Misha was not anywhere near him. It was just Jensen and Jared and the streets of Vancouver, a shared bottle of wine passing between the two. Jared doesn't know everything, but he's as a-tune to Jensen as Sam is to Dean. Prompted with the right questions, Jensen spews his words, his mind unable to stop his mouth. Jared nods as he listens, understanding, always understanding as Jensen talks. They meander through the streets, down familiar and unfamiliar paths, the bottle becoming progressively empty. Seconds, minutes, hours pass, Jensen is unsure but, one way or another, they end up outside a house. A house owned by someone he was in no shape to see. 

Jared rang the doorbell before Jensen could say anything, shoving him up the porch and running like the awkward moose he was.

A bedraggled Misha opened the door, bare chested to the world, ice blues hooded and glazed. His brows pulled together in brief confusion before his vision cleared, Jensen's face swimming into clear view. A brief greeting on his part, a polite question of what the fuck was going on and if everything was alright. Jensen's body overrode his mind, but no his wife was home, he had to walk away his mind said, but his body said screw it. _Screw him._ His lips felt dry, his mouth like parchment, his tongue scratchy. Misha wet his lips, his tongue licking in slow motion, Jensen's eyes watching with such devotion. 

"That's a fucking crime." Jensen slurred, his accent coming home. "That mouth of yer's" 

Chapped lips turned up. "Why's that?"

"It's too fucking perfect." Go for it. You'll regret it later. And go for it he did, launching forward with such urgency, Misha back-pedalled before responding with a ferocity that aroused Jensen even more. He pushed them into Misha's house, both nearly tripping over the carpet as Jensen slams him into the wall. Breathless laughter escapes Misha, slow suckles pepper his smooth jaw. He's digging his fingers into Jensen, rubbing his crotch against Jensen, and he can feel the erection already there.

There is no in between; no soft, no hard, just one big whirlwind of intensity. Clothes are hindrances. Misha sheds their clothes like wrapping paper, eager, always so eager to get to the point. Lips crash together, messy, needy. They aren't going to make it up the stairs to the bedroom; a couch too awkward. A kitchen has what they need. 

Misha is in control now, Jensen too sloppy, too tipsy to take care of the situation. He wants it, oh he can feel it; the heat sliding between their naked bodies, the sweat already building, the blood already pumping. They both want this. Lithe muscles lift Jensen onto the counter, lips and tongue licking, kissing, biting treasures on Jensen's jaw, throat, chest. Breathing becomes harder the harder he gets, harder as Misha moves down slowly, his eyes watching, always watching Jensen's face as he teases. Hands are clawing down his back, just rough enough to elicit pleasure, not enough to elicit pain until they rest at the small of Jensen's back.

He's right by Jensen's cock, his mouth teasing just to the side. Fingers curl and fist in Misha's already bedraggled hair, the tension inside Jensen's body building up to an explosion if he didn't do something soon. A gentle kiss on his hipbone and then sweet warmth is wrapping around the head, and working down to envelop his whole shaft. He throws his head back, mouth forming a quiet O as Misha takes him all in, electricity zapping up his spine, and down to his feet. Misha's throat humms deeply, his chords vibrating against Jensen's cock. His back arches, hips thrusting forward, a silent plea for more. He feels a smile form around his cock, feels it move back up to the head then back down. A slow rhythm establishes, teeth graze against his shaft until Jensen can't see the ground he's flying so high. All it takes is nails clawing down to rest just above his ass, and the vibrating to intensify just a tad and he's coming into Misha's mouth. He swallows it all, never once breaking eye contact with Jensen above him, not even when he unwraps his lips and stands, licking the rest of the cum off with a smirk to drive the devil wild. Blues encircle blacks, lust still present, still unsatisfied.

_My turn._

Legs entangle around Misha, ensnaring him and pulling him forward. He feels Misha's cock brush against his thigh, the feeling almost enough to send his own rising again. He knows what he wants, what he needs and the counter was not gonna work. Maneuvering two bodies was hard and time consuming, but he gets what he envisioned. Before long he's on his back, Misha straddling him, a container of oil in one hand, the other teasing Jensen until he's hard again.

Fingers are slicked first, fingers are the first to enter. One goes in and Jensen hisses then moans as he relaxes. Then another and another, each finger curling up in a come hither motion. Oh baby I'm coming. Jensen's hand curled into Misha's neck, pulling him down. "Fuck me now," he growled. One last smirk, one last kiss, one last curl and his fingers leave, a whimper leaving with them. Crawling back, Misha lifts one, two of Jensen's legs onto his shoulders. More oil is poured onto his hand, more appendages are slicked and ready, and then Misha is pushing into Jensen, hands braced on either side of his hips. His whole body rocks forward, hands moving forward, until his face is just above Jensen's. He twines his hands around Misha's shoulders, but gets shrugged off. Instead, Jensen's hands become trapped between Misha's own and the table. Misha's whole body is already shaking, sweat rolling off onto Jensen trapped underneath him, at his mercy. 

Slow movements start, hips rolling as Misha slides in and out with a practiced ease. Jensen's body is still weary, still trying to come down from his orgasm, but he can't. He's up higher than the clouds, soaring higher with every pound Misha makes. He gets rougher, his cock slamming into Jensen harder, faster, until he hits the prostate. Screams are bit down, breathing becomes erratic. Jensen struggles against his bonds, wanting to touch Misha, needing to make his own marks on the others skin, but he's strong. Years of carpentry bless him with remarkable strength; Jensen can struggle all he wants but Misha won't let go. Misha's riding him hard and fast, sweat glistening in the moonlight, highlighting the bumps and curves of his muscles. 

They are as quiet as they can be, the table rocking and creaking under their weight and Misha's ferocity. Everything is on fire, his body revving up, fireworks bursting behind his eyes, so close, so close. Rough lips brush and bite his ear, a deep voice telling him to come, telling him that he tastes so good, telling him Misha wants to taste him again. His stomach lurches, his back arches, and he's coming again all over Misha's stomach, a cry of victory escaping before a hand traps the noise. Warmth fills Jensen as Misha comes, his body tensing and shaking, before collapsing on top of Jensen. 

Panting is the only thing heard before Misha disentangles himself from Jensen, and falls to the side. Jensen's gaze finds Misha's, expecting to feel regret, expecting Misha to realize what happened and to be angry but he doesn't find it. He stares, he almost talks, but doesn't. Time passes, his body heavy, exhaustion crashing against him in waves. He can't sleep here.

Misha drags him up onto his feet, helps clean Jensen up and himself, the care he shows completely paradoxical to the ferocity he displayed before. Jensen's dizzy, feeling the full effects of the alcohol, of his exhaustion. Misha asks if he can drive him home and he doesn't know. Jared probably left long ago, but there was the moose, sitting on the front step with the empty bottle, a stupid grin plastered on. He stands and wraps Jensen's arm around his shoulder. There is one more stolen kiss, one more guilty pleasure, before Jensen is dragged away by Jared.


End file.
